


You Are The Only Thing That's Real

by DorkPatroller (Lilmissprine)



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Nohr | Conquest Route, mostly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilmissprine/pseuds/DorkPatroller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owain's Diary was sort of like an anchor that kept Inigo grounded to the world, so that he didn't forget his name and drift away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are The Only Thing That's Real

**Author's Note:**

> and today we try stylistically different writing of the OTP. wooooo.

Inigo stumbled upon the Manual of Justice for the first time when they were just teenagers. At the time he'd made fun of Owain for keeping a diary, but he was sort of impressed. The journal was littered with writings. Detailed lists of titles and names for weapons or attacks, speeches and ideas, scribbles of images in the margins... he was surprised Owain found the time to keep it up in the middle of a war. Of course he wasn't able to read the whole thing, not then and certainly not in one sitting. Owain was all but threatening him to get the diary back, after all. Inigo knew he would read it again.

... 

Owain's Diary was less of a diary and more of a novel. The second time Inigo read over it he realized that it not only contained lists, but also a detailed story of the hero in question. Of course, it was absurd to think his eyes would actually flash red when he went to battle, or that he could summon an ultimate attack... but the jotted short stories were refreshing to read. It was nice, Inigo thought, for a battle to be imaginary. It was nice that the fight was always won by the hero, and that the damsels were saved and no one suffered. Inigo supposed he wished their lives were more like that, instead of a constant battle of survival. That was why he snuck away to read Owain's diary now and then.

 ...

Inigo read that journal quite regularly by the time Owain actually caught him. Owain blushed (amusing, no doubt) and he shouted (not uncalled for) but Inigo just shook his head and turned the book around. Some of the words were hard to read, Inigo would have thought a prince would have better penmanship. Other times the ink was blurred by gods knew what. Sweat, tears, a poorly timed swipe of the hand.... but he asked Owain what the word was, and the swordsman walked closer and clarified for him. Inigo nodded his head and turned the book around to continue reading. Owain came and sat beside him, to read over his shoulder, too.

 ...

The best chapter that Owain ever wrote was after the fall of Grima, Inigo thought. He was there, he fought the dragon too, but reading about it in Owain's weird, novelized way of speaking.... that was different. When he sat in Owain's tent reading his diary that time, he was forced to face demons he had never faced before: resolution. Everything had ended, Robin was gone, their mission complete. Owain's writing begged the question of where a great hero should go from there, and Inigo could relate because he had no idea what to do either. Owain joined him at some point or another. Inigo hardly noticed, but Owain sat a little closer than normal. The smeared ink on that page came from Inigo's tears and insecurities, not Owain's.

 ...

The only reason he found out about it was through that diary. Owain had been having visions of a cloaked man, with hair the same shade of blue as the sky, reaching out to him. Inigo would have ignored it as one of Owain's many embellishments if he hadn't been having the exact same dreams. So he closed the journal (almost full, he thought, with pages tucked into it and binding threatening to split) and stood up to go find Owain. When he did he held up the journal and he noticed that Owain seemed unfazed, because by now Inigo reading the diary was just commonplace. He said “I see that man when I sleep, Owain.” Owain's lips drew into a flat, pressed line. Inigo cleared his throat. “If something happens, we'll face it together. Don't go it alone.”

 ...

It wasn't just them. Severa had the visions too. Inigo knew because she was there, at the dock. The man in the visions had asked him to go to Valm, to meet him. Owain had the same dream, the same night. They packed up the few things they wanted to bring with them, and they went to the port to find a boat to take them across the sea. Severa was with them, with her own bags. Port Ferox was a big, bustling town with all sorts of merchants and variety. While they waited for the captain to ready his ship, they parted ways and wandered around. Inigo thought he would ask a lovely lady to have tea with him. Instead he noticed a particular vendor, and couldn't look away. He walked closer, and he was immediately drawn to one item in particular. It was a thick, leather-bound journal with a decorative flourish on the front, and tied shut with a matching lace. He picked it up and sure enough the pages were blank, and Inigo thought they were just screaming to be stuffed with nonsense and weapon names and a record of their upcoming adventure. Owain's journal was already overfilled, falling apart at the seams. He needed this. It was pricey. Inigo forwent the relaxing tea in favor of spending all the money he had on him to buy the book.

 ...

Inigo wasn't sure why he lacked the confidence to gift Owain the journal, but he didn't find the strength until they could see Valm rising up out of the waves. Owain had spent the better part of that morning leaning against the rail of the ship, and Inigo joined him there with the book tucked behind his back. When Owain noticed him, he didn't lose his nerve. He extended his arms and Owain reached out and took the book. He moved his fingertips over it and opened it and looked inside, and he looked at it like the blank pages held more power than any sword, than any ancient tome. Owain smiled wide at Inigo. He loved it, Inigo knew, and he loved the swell of pride that came with getting his friend such a wonderful gift.

 ...

When they were given their new identities it was in a rush and they had little time to process it. Inigo—Or, _Laslow_ , had been emotional. He felt real power behind the steps of the dance his mother had taught him before she died, and he knew that skill would invigorate his friends and help them to be safe, just the way Olivia's dances once had. The burst of happiness made him want to cry, but it made him want to dance even more, so he ran the few steps to Owain— _Odin_ \--and he danced for him. Odin told him that it was wonderful, that he was honored, and they laughed together, but when they parted ways to face their foes Laslow found himself staring after his companion with a new (unwelcome?) feeling constricting his chest.

 ...

Nohr was dark and overcast and Laslow sometimes thought it was hard to breathe there. Of course there was really no telling how long they would be there, but somehow they had all proven themselves to be suitable retainers to the royal family. They distanced themselves from each other initially. Laslow knew if they spent all their time together, it would imply they were old friends... and they needn't blow their cover just yet. The first few times he bumped into Odin they exchanged apologies and tiny smiles and said nothing else. Laslow watched Odin walk away, always wondering how he got anything done wearing so little clothes (and often wishing he had longer to look).

 ...

Now and then Laslow snuck out in the night to dance his mother's dance, lest he forget and somehow, some way, forget her as well. Everything in Ylisse seemed like a far away dream, when they lived their lives every day in Nohr. But he danced for maybe half an hour before he noticed a figure not far away. He thought he was being watched, but then he realized it was Odin. He was writing in the journal that Laslow (Inigo? Was he the same man as he had always been?) had bought for him. It had been a few months now since he had read Odin's (Owain's) writing. He missed it.

 ...

Odin's room in the castle was in an entirely different hall than Laslow's. The halls were long and dark and winding and lit by candles every few paces, not by windows. It was very different than the castles of Ylisse. Laslow thought maybe he should have stopped trying to compare them. Odin's room was towards the end of the corridor, and Laslow slipped inside quickly and (hopefully) without being noticed. It wasn't much different than his own room. Laslow took light steps to the bed. He felt like he was committing a crime. It didn't take him long to find the journal, though, and he opened it up and flipped through. There were so many entries to catch up on, it was almost exciting. He walked back out the door, and when he entered the hall he saw Prince Leo's other retainer—Niles--walking past. Niles looked at him with skepticism and suspicion. Laslow tucked the journal under his arm and walked away without a word.

 ...

He had hoped it would be comforting to read over Odin's entries. At first he thought it was, but there was something very different about his writing now. There was an undertone of something else. Hints of something new. By the time Laslow read through what Odin had written so far he understood what it was. Odin was infatuated with someone. Perhaps even in love. Laslow had hoped to find comfort, but he was faced with something else. Unease. (Jealousy?) He put the diary back where he had found it a few days before.

 ...

Laslow thought he should have been insulted that Prince Xander thought he needed a babysitter to run a simple errand. He also thought Odin should have been insulted that Prince Leo suggested him to be the person best suited to preventing Laslow from flirting with the locals, as if his way of being would scare ladies away. But he wasn't insulted, not really. He was happy to spend a day with Odin. They journeyed to get the items Prince Xander requested, and they spoke like they were just kids again. Laslow bought Odin tea, Odin bought them tea cakes, and Odin joked that it was the most successful date Laslow had ever been on. Laslow thought so, too.

 ...

Odin walked into the room while Laslow was still there, one day. Laslow was curled up in an armchair in Odin's bedroom, reading over the latest entry in the new manual of justice (or had he titled this one something else?), and Odin looked surprised at first, but then it melted into a tiny chuckle. Laslow blushed pink for being caught in his room, but he didn't dwell on it. He cleared his throat. “I've noticed your writing has changed.” Odin cast him a suspicious glance. Laslow bit his tongue, but he forced out the words “I would love to hear all about whomever you've fallen for, sometime. Your diary is dripping with romance, you see.” But he didn't want to hear about it. Not really. He was certainly jealous.

 ...

Laslow sometimes wondered what his real name sounded like anymore, but he couldn't find the strength to say it out loud. It had been so long since he had been anyone but _Laslow_ that he wondered if he had ever been someone else. Then again, when he looked at Selena and Odin part of him always saw them for who they once were. He could never truly forget them... and he supposed that meant he would never forget himself. He twisted his mother's wedding ring around his finger nervously, before he pulled on his gloves and left his room to report to his liege.

 ...

There was a poem in place of Odin's normal entries that day. It was short, and Laslow didn't think much of reading it right in front of Odin. Like old times, he thought, Odin didn't mind letting Laslow read over the pages. Laslow almost thought he encouraged it. Maybe it validated the words. There was something unsettling about Odin that day, however. He didn't sit beside Laslow to read over his shoulder. He sat on the side of his bed instead, reading over what Laslow assumed was a new grimoire. The poem was about a person and, right away, Laslow guessed it was a hint as to who Odin had fallen for. The more he read the more he found it hard to focus. It spoke of a man who danced alone in the starlight, of a person whose smile brought reassurance and strength. It spoke of a garden of indigo flowers. Laslow opened his mouth and tried to form words. There was a knock at the door. Niles called to Odin through it: Prince Leo had summoned them. Odin left.

 ...

Prince Leo took Odin away from him, took Niles and a small force and left the castle to carry out a mission for his father. Laslow and Peri remained with Prince Xander, who led them on a separate mission, in an entirely different direction. The tensions between Nohr and Hoshido were getting higher. Laslow expected there would be war, soon. He wanted to tell Odin he loved him too. He wanted to tell him before they went to war.

 ...

They saw each other briefly but not privately. They stood side by side to guard a door while Prince Leo and Prince Xander consulted with one another. Peri was to Laslow's right, and Niles was to Odin's left. They were not permitted to speak. Prince Leo and Prince Xander turned away from them for a moment. Laslow dropped his hand from behind his back and laid it over Odin's. He passed a small charm to him, a small token that featured Naga. It was for luck. Laslow put his hands back into place behind the small of his back. Odin did the same. Niles clicked his tongue, like he had witnessed a scandal.

 ...

Laslow didn't see Odin again for a long while after that. Prince Leo sent his retainers to find and fight alongside Corrin, and they didn't get to say two words to each other before Odin was disappearing with Niles to journey towards the Ice Tribe. Prince Xander had to finish up some business for King Garon before he would be able to join Corrin. Laslow said a quiet prayer to Naga every day that she might watch over and keep Odin strong while he faced the irrational tasks that the King of Nohr was piling upon Corrin.

 ...

Castle Macarath should have been the safest place for them to take a sick Princess Elise, but it turned out Hoshidan forces had swarmed it. Laslow and Peri barely made it in time to help, but barely was still enough. Prince Ryoma's forces were made to flee, and Princess Elise was given the medicine she needed. The castle would be their home for a night or two, until Princess Elise recovered and they could press onward in Corrin's mission. With limited resources Laslow didn't feel it necessary to waste healing magic or medicine on the cut on his arm, and so sealed away in the room he had been assigned to he peeled off his heavy shirt and vest and admired the long, but shallow, cut along his forearm. Startlingly close to a vein. The Hoshidan ninjas' aim was not to be taken lightly. He should have considered himself lucky that he wasn't struck by poison. While he struggled to wrap the wound was when the door opened and the only person he really wanted to see stepped in. Odin walked closer and took the bandages away from Laslow, and he let Odin wrap his injury for him just the way he once let Owain do the same. He wanted to say he loved Odin then, but the words got stuck in his throat.

 ...

The Astral Plane was someplace new and incredible and Laslow loved it more than he should have. The sun was shining like it did in Ylisse, and the sky was blue--not a trace of gray. Corrin's home was there, and Laslow explored the grounds the moment he had the chance. There was a mine that produced beautiful ore, and a spring that provided fresh fish. A mess hall, an arena for training, it was like a small paradise in the midst of a war. It was very comforting. With the warm sun on his face, it almost felt like home.

 ...

He couldn't stop himself from sneaking out of his tent that night to dance. He thought everyone was asleep and so he walked towards the spring and took up a familiar set of steps. When he made those turns, flicked his wrist just so, he knew that he would never truly forget his mother. When he stopped it was because he was being watched, but he knew better than to be nervous about the dark mage who was looking after him. He took a small bow, a chuckle on his lips. Odin grinned at him and clapped his hands quietly once or twice. Laslow stepped closer to him and finally he could say it, albeit in a whisper. “I love you too, Odin.”

 ...

That night Laslow let Odin press him back onto the bedroll in his tent and kiss him until he forgot if his name was Inigo or Laslow or both or neither. With his knees hooked over Odin's shoulders, with Odin's teeth scraping along his skin where his collar would hide the marks come morning, Laslow didn't much care what their names were anymore. When this war ended they would go home together. Or perhaps they would find another war, in another world, and take on another set of identities. It hardly mattered. All that mattered was that Odin lived on to continue filling up journals with the stories of how they survived, together.

 


End file.
